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Sachs asserts that “poverty can be ended…in our time.” But this bold statement begs the question of how we define “can.” This less pedantic query wakes Sachs from his idealistic ether and reminds him that, realistically, an increase in financial assistance to Africa may pose a challenge. Does Sachs mean that we “can” indeed end poverty, given certain political and ideological shifts among the ruling elites of rich countries? As strong as his economic plan may be, it hinges upon the altruism of the wealthy. And of course, history provides few examples of wealthy nations acting like model philanthropists. The bills for MDG funding, for instance, have not yet been paid in full. The current US annual budget grants $450 billion for the military but only $15 billion for development assistance, and the billions reserved by President George W. Bush in 2003 for Africa’s AIDS epidemic have been largely ignored. Furthermore, contributions made by any wealthy nation invariably depend on the ideology of a transient administration—specifically, on the extent of its willingness to offer assistance without any tangible benefit in return.

Ironically, a close reading of Sachs’ text suggests that the generosity he expects is unlikely. All of Sachs’ case studies involve nations that required international aid, whether in the form of direct donation, foreign investment, or debt cancellation. As a rule, those countries that relied on boundless foriegn altruism fared worst. His most successful cases, China and India, enjoyed explosive growth largely fueled by foreign investment. In post-communist Poland and inflation-addled Bolivia, where growth was slower, economic progress came only after debt cancellation. And his least successful case of economic development, Russia, faltered because it could not generate enough direct aid. Sachs has proven, although inadvertently, that self-interested foreign spending best encourages development. Yet, his proposal for ending extreme poverty in Africa and elsewhere still hinges on unprecedented foreign altruism.

Denying his own idealism, Sachs adduces three classic examples of altruistic triumph—the end of European slavery at the turn of the nineteenth century, the end of colonialism, and the civil rights movements—as if to insist that altruism is a powerful reality. But Britain abolished the slave trade while riding a wave of progressive optimism during an age of reform. Meanwhile, anti-colonialism and civil rights were both fueled by energetic protest on the part of the oppressed. Unfortunately, Africans cannot march on the White House, and today’s wealthy leaders seem much more concerned with ending terror than with fostering international economic equity. And although poverty buttresses terrorism, politicians have scarcely seized on poverty-reduction as a winning strategy for reducing terror.

Risking cliché, I must complain that Sachs’ idealism is detrimental to the viability of his economic plan. The End of Poverty proposes a twofold plan—part logistic and part altruistic. In public health terms, we might call Sachs’ proposal part structural and part psychological, the latter attempting to influence the leaders of affluent nations. Yet in public health, structural change has consistently proven more reliable. So let us heed Sachs’ somewhat grounded developmental advice, but not expect an immediate economic miracle.

Benjamin Deen is a freshman at Yale University .